Mariana Enríquez

En pappa och hans son färdas genom Argentina i bil, från Buenos Aires till vattenfallen i Iguazú, alldeles vid gränsen till Brasilien. Det är mitt under 1970-talets militärdiktatur, beväpnade soldater kontrollerar vägarna och stämningen i luften är spänd. Sonen heter Gaspar, och hans pappa, Juan Peterson, hoppas kunna skydda sin son från det öde som väntar honom. Juan och Gaspar är på väg till pojkens morföräldrar, mäktiga jordägare i norra Argentina och medlemmar i det hemliga sällskapet Orden. Orden åkallar Mörkret genom fruktansvärda ritualer i sitt sökande efter det eviga livet, och den svårt hjärtsjuke Juan används som medium under ritualerna trots att varje seans bryter ner honom, fysiskt såväl som psykiskt. Gaspars mamma har nyligen dött under mycket oklara omständigheter i en olycka, som kanske inte var en olycka utan ett ritualmord. Övernaturlig skräck blandas med verklighetsnära händelser i denna omtumlande och fascinerande roman, som samtidigt skildrar en väldigt annorlunda far-sonrelation och därmed säkrar Mariana Enriquez en plats som en av 2000-talets främsta latinamerikanska författare.

Vår del av natten

Nuestra parte de noche

Jasper

It was the illness, he’d explained to her later. Each thing he did was a negotiation, a calculation. As if he were tasked with carrying and caring for a delicate crystal treasure that he could never set aside, not even in a safe place, and that had to be moved gingerly so as not to damage or break it. He had to think out every movement in advance, always tiptoeing, always wondering if this jolt would bring the disaster, the final break.

My mother once told me that your power was as great as your irresponsibility. I’ll be with you forever. As long as you don’t push me away, I’m with you.

Will I be remembered as the man who found the medium and saved him more than once? Will they write about me, will my name be uttered in admiration? I must not think of my glory. Let it be secret if it must. I will stop pleading for compassion. There are no words from this world for the entrance into the Darkness, no words for the last bite.

Gods always behave like the people who make them.

I want to drain your entrails with kisses

For I am a pitch-black toad with two wings.

There is no arguing with faith, though. And it’s impossible to disbelieve when the Darkness comes. So, we trust, and we go on. At least, many of us do. Others are sick with doubt.

and they’d hug, proclaim their love for each other, just like that, I love you, fucking Negro, and Gaspar felt he couldn’t ascend to that level with them. He’d said as much to Isabel. It’s like we’re all going up a flight of stairs together and at a certain point I say “this is as far as I go.” And on that step, higher up, they’re all happy and I watch them from below. Had he always been like that? It wasn’t shyness or reserve or adolescence, as other people thought. He wasn’t going to get over it. He could dance when he was alone, he could get emotional in his room with a book, but when the party started he disconnected, the others turned into a movie that he could watch but not participate in. So he acted like he was invisible, which wasn’t hard when everyone was drunk. And he withdrew into his room, where he felt the purest kind of relief.

It’s one thing to be the black sheep. You’re the black sheep, the prodigal son, the family’s shame. You could conform. All I can do is rebel. My dad could only rebel. Nonconformity is only possible for those who are not slaves. Everyone else has to fight.

Karola

Eso también es ser rico, pensé entonces: ese desprecio por lo precioso y la incapacidad de ofrecer la dignidad de nombrar. 

 Y me contestó algo que de tan cierto a veces lo repito en voz alta. Es que no pasa nada después de esto, hija. Al día siguiente tenemos hambre y comemos, queremos estar al sol y nadamos, nos tenemos que afeitar, hay que atender a los contadores y visitar los campos porque queremos seguir teniendo dinero. Lo que pasa es real, pero la vida también.

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